


Drop of Rum

by Angelkissesanddemonsblood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Smut, Violence, but not in the way that ur dirty mind is thinking, knives are involved okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 09:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelkissesanddemonsblood/pseuds/Angelkissesanddemonsblood
Summary: There are seven people in existance, seven people that ultimately make up the deadly sins. If your family is killed by these beasts, you go to a training school meant to prepare you to kill the sins. The catch is that omce you do, you will take their place. Just as soon as you succumb to whatever sin you destroyed.





	Drop of Rum

Murdering Lust had not been a mistake, it had been a vendetta so deeply ingrained in you it rattled your very core. You had been raised on this, this age old war that cascaded in passionate lectures about not succumbing to sin. It scalded like hot coals, each day at the academy a reminder of the darkest day of it’s students lives. Should you have failed to overcome the throes of the seven deadly sins, then the result was just that, deadly.

Your family had been slaughtered by these monsters. Their innards strung gleefully from the light fixtures, like a victory cry.  _ We were here  _ the blood seemed to say, teeming with the need to remind you that someone in your family committed the highest of crimes. Something so bad that it was worth killing even your youngest of siblings, leaving a corpse in the cradle, just for you. The manor they died in was unholy in itself, dark halls and endless artifacts. The aftermath left it more haunting than before, like the true palace of the damned. 

Keys clattered around in your palm, your old dodge ram parked in the entirely empty parking lot. The swinging and faded sign read  _ The Red Robin Motel,  _ there seemed to be one flickering light above room 66. You wondered if the room was available as you pushed open the main office doors. A woman, maybe fifty, with weather worn eyes and salt-and-pepper hair stood behind the counter. She was frail, a slight breeze could blow her away, clothes and all. As the bell chimed she looked up, sunken gaze meeting yours, “Why hello deary,” she greeted, her voice crackling, “how may I help you tonight?”

The air was static, the woman had sounded fake. Like a talking toy who’s batteries were nearly dead. For only a millisecond you hesitated, your tongue swollen in your mouth. After your brain decided not to run back to your car and get as far from here as it could, you managed a noise, then slowly a phrase, “I-I was just looking to see if I could rent out room sixty-six for the next few nights?”

Graceful black lines of ink marked the guest check in book as the woman took down your words, her writing halted when you requested the room number but the motion was so short that you thought you must have imagined it. The woman unhooked a room key from her corkboard, placing it gently in your hand. She clasped your fingers between hers, sending butterflies of panic up in your stomach. As soon as the touch occurred it was over, the only remnants the cold spot where her hands had touched. It was almost too cold to be a living hand. Pressing a wad of bills down on the counter you turn away pushing open the door of the office with more effort than necessary, in a hurry to get away from the woman. Shoving your car keys deep in your pocket you climb up the stairs, heading quickly to the room you’d rented. As you shoved your room key into the door handle to enter your room, you failed to notice the number on the door. In the light the first two sixes cast a shadow over a third, the stain so subtle it was near unnoticeable. 

The room was dingy and smelt of mildew and disappointment, which was a pretty regular scent in your life. You had often wished you could live with more extravagencies but such a thing would be considered gluttony. The bed was stiff with age and made a thump as your bag landed on it. You took up the television remote, pressing the power button. It crackled to life with a grunt. The screen was overtaken by static. With a sigh you turned the machine back off, tugging your shirt over your head. If you were going to be stationed here you may as well stay in comfort. The room was chilly against your skin, like a coiling snake waiting to pounce. Digging into the duffle bag before you in search of your cell phone you missed the shadow passing over the walls tall and mutilated. 

Moving deliberately around the bed and squatting down to plug in the older phone, you felt a shiver cultivating at the base of your spine before climbing all the way up to your skull. You whipped around, the blade strapped to your thigh now heavy in your hand. The space behind you was empty despite bristling with electricity. You decided not to let your guard down for at least a few more hours, the woman in the office had been eerie enough to have you on your toes. 

Settling down on your lumpy bed you decided to keep gripping your knife, letting the hours tick by at their idle pace. Eventually the roll of the clock began to set you on edge, tired eyes slinking along to the sight of fluttering digital numbers. You were exhausted, and soon the droop of sleep took you under with it.

Encased in darkness your mind pulled images from your memory, telling a story you knew all too well.

_ Mother Cythnon watched with careful eyes, following the throw of your knife from your arms careful pull back to its sharp collision with the target. You had to do this calmly, with more accuracy than a hunting feline, no rage, envy or pride could maime the throws. Training was an endless cycle, starting right after breakfast and well into the night. There was six hours of combat training paired with eight of education. Precision was key. The priests and nuns guarding this sanctuary of anti-sin had taken a special interest in you, the star pupil, the prodigy. You Had succeeded where others failed, nothing you did held an ounce of sin. The way the board cluncked brought no satisfaction to you, or at least, not obvious satisfaction. It was the same for everything else, fist fighting, sword wielding, archery, each blending into the next. Day after day without fail.  _

_ “Kit,” Mother Cynthnon said clear and strong.  _

_ The hand that had drawn back the next blade for throw paused, then followed through, hitting the bulls eye with stunning certainty. You looked up, tugging your ponytail tighter, “Yes Mother? How may I serve thee?” _

_ Raising her head just so, and looking down the bridge of her nose at you she continued, “It's time dear, for you to begin the first mission.” _

_ A rush of agony swept through you, nevertheless your expression remained complacent. Eyes not wandering from the nuns you spoke again, “May I know the nature of this mission Mother?” _

_ Clearing her throat the nun spoke, “Kill Lust. She's a blonde college student by the name of Jess, don't befall her advances.” _

_ “Of course Mother.” _

_ Her head lowered in ease, “You leave at sun up.” _

_ The hour at which you woke was ungodly, around three a.m. This was the witching hour and yet you were out to do the witching tonight. Crickets chirruped just beyond the window as you rose from your bed. A duffel sat at the end, large and brooding. Lifting the was cumbersome, testing the limits of your upper arm strength. _

_ After that it was motel room after motel room, until the transition from one to another became blurry. You had spent months tracking the subtleties of Jessica's actions. It seemed she only ever slept with one victim, a young man that appeared to be almost identical to Sam Winchester, the boy that had a angry mental breakdown in the lunch hall and was escorted away. For most of the years since then you had assumed him dead. But Jessica never reacted to him the way she did for most of her victims, which she seduced and then consumed. The man was always around, leaning into her slender fingers and gentle touches.  _

_ January 28th Jessica headed to a bar in a little town, a deadzone. Anyone who went missing here would not be remembered, mostly drunkards and heavy drug users, estranged from any family. It was perfect, she came alone. The tall man was nowhere to be seen. You headed in, fitted flannel hugging your curves consummately, lips parted, sway of your body absolute in the dim lights. The men with dirty hands and frail bodies whistled, following you with empty eyes. Any one of them would be piggish, would take anything you gave them and still reach for more. There gazes weren't the only, with Jessica also watching you. To her you appeared the most appealing meat slab, your hair falling freely over shoulder. You looked to the bartender with a delectable and easy smile on your painted lips. A cherry shade of red that teased the view, your head tilted with poise. Eyebrows raised in a toying way, stunting the movement of the man behind the counter.  _

_ You leant forward, pressing your elbows against the table and pulling your shoulders inward. With pouted lips and a quirked finger you beckoned him over. If you wanted Jessica to come after you, you had to make sure you came off a cinch to get into bed.  _

_ Jessica stood, sauntering towards you, “Hey there pretty girl, you into women at all?” _

_ You glanced up through a thick row of lashes, “Certainly am love, what's your name?” _

_ It took nothing, one drink and pretending you were tipsy, to get her outside with you and the knife in your pocket. She took you behind an old and rusting eighteen wheeler that had sunken down on the hill. Bringing her hands up under your shirt she coquettishly ran her nails over the skin. You careened forward, playing into her game. The look in her eyes shifted from lustful to hungry, you waited, watching as her jaw began to unhinge. As she threw her head back you drew out the knife strapped to your thigh, positioning it between you. The point of the blade dig into her skin and alerted her to the impending impalement. She knocked the knife away, slicing her stomach along the skin. Throwing you down with a snarl she shadowed your backing away by pacing ever closer. Your hands reached for whatever you could find to defend yourself and came on a length of cable.  _

_ Jess unhinged her jaw again, kneeling down with intent to devour you. When her eyes, which eerily pointed in different directions outward, came close to yours you hooked the wire under her chin and crossed it over behind her neck. Closing your eyes you tightened the chord until it went through the flesh and bone. Blood splattered your face, along with the head smacking against yours and rolling down the hill into the ditch. The now limp body collapsed weighted and cooling against yours. You gasped as you opened your eyes, arms still grasping the wire above your head. Throwing it to the side you wiped the bitter crimson from your parted lips, a shudder raked through you as you shoved the body away from you and pressed your back to the body of the truck. You pressed the pads of your fingers to the metal siding on the truck to ground yourself, knowing how to kill someone was one thing, actually doing it was different. Crunching gravel brought your gaze away from the body, along with the clang of someone punching the truck. When you stood and checked the darker side of the truck you found no one, just a large fist-shaped dent.  _

Crickets still sung their lonely songs when you woke in a cold sweat. You clutched your knife tightly, breath shallow as you searched the shadows. The air had changed slightly, a tang of rot in it. A chuckle rolled out from within the shadows, “Now what're you gonna do with that twig?”

Disembarking from the bed you strained to see who stood in darkness. He sounded familiar, albeit a bit gruffer. Pacing forward the mans face was still cast in dusk with the moonlight. His smile was visible, angry yet seemly, “You killed my girlfriend.”

He continued towards you, disemboweling grin still plastered across his face. You took a step back, legs shaking beneath you as the large creature closed in. Red hot contempt dripped from him like molten, thick and endless. The wall pressed coldly against your back, the large knife you clasped desperately shaking against your chest. Your eyes were wide with fear, breath hitching each time the floorboards creaked under him as he walked towards you. He was taller than you remembered, standing over a foot higher than yourself. When the moonlight filtering in through the dusty window caught his face again you could make out every angle and scar on his face. His forearms pressed against the wall surrounding you, breath falling hot and shallow over your face. His lips brushed your ear, "I remember you, kitten. Do you remember me?"   
Your heart slowed to a near stop, jumping back to a racing patter in a collection of seconds. Your voice was still in your throat, a vice-like grip as you tried to formulate words that were somewhere outside of your panic and arousal. A kiss pressed to your shoulder brought you back from the edge of insanity, his name tumbled from your mouth as a simple statement, "Sam Winchester."   
The blade you clutched clattered to the ground between you and him as his fingers ran over the exposed skin of your side. Your eyes were clamped shut, body frozen in place. Your lips parted, looking for some words to speak,  **"I'll scream!"** you snapped, hands colliding with his chest.    
A rumble of a laugh came from within him, fingers tangling in your hair. With one swift yank your body was arched into his, trying to keep the hair from being pulled out. Lips brushed your ear again, **"Likely. If not before, certainly during. I expect they'll hear you, you've got good lungs."**   
You straddled the line between terrified and hopelessly ardent. Thinking he was done his speech you attempted to pull away from him, "Ah, not so fast kitten. You can't call me a sinner without addressing your own as well, and what are we feeling now? Lust?"   
Unintelligible sounds escaped you, his fingers pressing your core along the outside of your jeans, "Please," you whispered, "either fuck me or stop."   
Sam huffed a laugh, biting at the side of your neck, "I intended to tear you limb from limb, but seeing as I'm not allowed to do that to the next deadly sin, I suppose there are other ways to rip you apart."

The clasp on your bra snapped open, Sam’s fingers touching the flesh beneath. The fabric rolled off your shoulders, releasing your breasts to the cool air. Taking advantage of your momentary lapse of rational thought as shockwaves of need pressed through you Sam teased. His fingers traced the line of flesh where your chest and torso met, sending tingles all through you. The bra, still tangled around the juncture between your forearm and bicep, obstructed any arm movements. For now you were at the mercy of his touch. You could feel his wrath humming just below the skin, waiting of the opportune moment to cut you. The warmth of his fingers passing along the side of your bust was unbearable, a teasing sentiment of what was to come. Breath short and weak you beg for benevolence, “Sam, please I know,” the weight of his touch against your nipple made you gasp, leaning into him with obedience, “your mad but.”

The twinge of pain that spread from his harsh toying with your chest caused small moans to abdicate from you. Growls came from him just before the slow drag of his nails down the supple skin of your stomach, leaving raised marks in their wake. He was big, tall and asked nothing of you but your compliance while you pleaded for more of him. No notice was given when he stripped the bra from your arms and picked you up, pressing your back to the frigid plaster. Despite the biting chill against your back you were rather warm, the blush in your cheeks a direct result of the deep trill of desire in your loin. Sam pressed closer, his hips suspending yours where they rested against the wall. You could feel his member pressing against the fabric of his jeans, waiting until it could sink into you and make you an adulterer. It felt as though he planned to be gentle, making this first time easier on you. Yet when his lips collided with yours it was in a way that was one part passion, two parts resentment. Your head spun in your attempt to keep up with his pace, his hands left bruises where he gripped your arms, commanding that you succumb to him in this.

Taking you from the wall with an iron grasp and dropping you on the bed back first Sam tore his t-shirt straight down the middle, revealing a body of well worked muscles that taunted you. Looming over you in the luminescence made him appear as little more than a silhouette, but one that had the lap of your pants entirely soaked. 

Your nerves crackled with anticipation, need pooling in your gut. This was wrong, so wrong it overpowered you. Sam Winchester should be dead for succumbing to Wrath, not stripping down to nothing before you. You could hear his belt clasp hitting the floor, along with the shuffle of his jeans as he kicked them away. His erection was even more blatant when straining only against the thin fabric of his boxers.

You crippled under the anticipation, fingers fumbling with the button on your jeans. Sam watches with low eyes, yanking them off you after you'd done the hard part. Seeing the cotton of your briefs the man smirked, bringing his palm down on the mound and eliciting a plea from you. Your hips pressed up helplessly, buckling in the draft. Sam linked his fingers in the sides and tore them away, dragging his knuckles over the folds. The creases were drenched in slick, imploring him to use you. Sam dipped his fingers into your core, only getting to the second knuckle. He chuckled and rested his other hand against your stomach while he worked you open. Fruitful cries escaped as you were opened for the first time, the slow progression of your loosening a wonder for Sam to witness. Not even Jessica had squirmed this much under him, watching it brought him pride. Sam kept working you open until you could take all the way down to his knuckles and then a third finger. You folded your legs together when he pulled away, tucking your fingers against your bud and pressing the way Sam had. He shoved his hands between your thighs as soon as he'd removed his boxers. You whimpered as he grabbed your hand, nearly crushing it in his grip, “No.”

The husk of his voice alone could have tipped you over the edge, but the drag of his length over your yearning core brought you back. You looked up at his rough features as he entered you, barely able to fit. With a howl he brought his lips down on yours and kissed roughly, demanding control, which you gave over to him without a fight. His calloused hands were rough against your jaw and thigh as he pounded into you with a brutal pace, no care for your well-being at all. It hurt, all at once and then not at all as new waves of pleasure gripped you. Your lower legs clung to Sam's shoulders, attempting to absorb the shockwaves along with your fingers which had tangled in the sheets. Lips parted in a soundless lament you pulled your hands up over your head. Sam growled, teeth sinking into the skin of your neck and collar, “You killed her.”

His hips faltered, extracting a stunted yelp from you, “You killed her!”

He came, biting just behind your ear. The act was loveless, only of rage. Sam pulled away, not allowing you the satisfaction of orgasm. 

You lay limply, body too exhausted to question why Sam bent down. It was only when he rose again with the large blade you'd dropped in hand that panic began to choke you. Sam brought his hand down against your throat, “Don't make this hard. It's only going to hurt more.”

You screamed as the blade bit into your skin, just below your collarbone and above your heart. He let the blade drag just deep enough to leave a nasty scar, you sobbed aimlessly into the night. Begs of his name on your tongue, “AH! Sam! Stop! Please!”

Each plea was accompanied by a sob laced scream of pain, and your limbs flinging wildly. When the area finally went numb and Sam stopped carving he looked at you with satisfaction in his eyes. Voice weak and horse you breathed, “Why?”

Sam smiled, “So you don't,” he gripped your hair and pulled, bringing his nose to yours, “ _ ever _ ,” he let go, pulling his pants back on and buckling them, eyes still boring into yours, “forget who did this to you.”

Sam walked towards the door, glancing back at where you lay, “Goodnight, whore.”

Legs and hips dangling over the edge of the bed, you went limp again. Stunned and still bleeding you touched the mark Sam left.

**_S.W_ **


End file.
